Max Meets Junior (Part 8)

Max was finally able to rip his eyes away up to the young man’s face, and it was a face he knew–the face of his live in house and pool boy, yes, it was that. Young, framed by a carefully manicured shock of blonde hair, smile beaming, but it was also a face he knew from a cubicle, from working closely with him for months. “J-Julian?”

“Julian sir? Please, I hate that name. Call me Jules, like you always have, it makes me feel so young and sexy,” he said with a slight growl, leaning in close, and then slid back. “Enjoy the first course! I’ll have more for you in a moment, sir.” He slipped back to the kitchen, ass swishing the whole way, Max’s eyes helplessly glued to it until it slipped through the door, and he turned to Junior.

“What…did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You…you fucking know what I mean!” Max said, “What the fuck did you do to him? To…to this house? To my…my fucking life!”

He was standing. He was standing, and his fists were clenched, and the anger was pouring through him, but Junior was unaffected. If anything, he seemed to be enjoying himself, and that only made him angrier. “Oh Daddy, if you didn’t want what I was offering, then you should have been a bit more careful about who you let into your house, and who you fuck.”

“What?”

“Look, it isn’t really your problem anyway–he’s the one who made the choice, Daddy. He was out of a job, his wife was leaving him and was going to take everything–kids, house, car, you name it. I gave him…a job opportunity, and I must say Jules has taken to it with such gusto, I’m so happy for him, I really am, and you’re going to…enjoy him so much. I do know your type, after all. Besides, you don’t even remember Julian, do you? Because that isn’t your job, anymore. No Daddy, you’re much, much more important than any of that, and I also know, for a fact, that you are very, very hungry. So why don’t you have a seat there, and eat?”

Max tried to object, he tried to fight, but somehow his stepson was able to maneuver him back into the chair and push him up against the table, lift the cover from the platter, and reveal a massive spread of food. Max found himself staring at it with the same intensity he’d had for Jule’s ass, and when Junior put food on his plate, he started…eating. And he ate, and he ate, until the platter was empty, but by then Jules had returned with a second, and Junior kept piling his plate full, encouraging him more, pouring mimosa after mimosa, and as he ate, as he stuffed himself, all of this began to feel more…normal.

This was, after all, how he spent his weekends. Huge breakfasts and huge dinners, all prepared by his beautiful and incredibly sexy Jules. Sure, he could remember Julian…a little bit, but it was losing urgency. It was losing…focus. And Junior was touching him, running his hands over him, handling the fork, feeding him, kissing him when he felt too full to go on, and then helping him eat more. It was at least an hour later when Jules finally stopped bringing in platters, when he was allowed to finish and relax, Junior pulling his chair out, stroking his bloated belly gently, giving him soft, gentle kisses between his moans.

“I…don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much in my whole life.”

“I think you’ll be eating like that much more often, Daddy, you little glutton,” Junior said, “Besides, it feels good, doesn’t it? Feeling heavy, feeling full, eating more than you should, being greedy. You like it.”

He did like it, but…he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to admit that letting go, that giving in felt amazing, that seeing Junior…seeing the way his stepson was looking at his bloat was turning him on. That his cock was as hard as it’s ever been in his life, that Junior was toying with it through the silk. When the door opened and Jules entered, it didn’t occur to him for a moment that this–him and his stepson making out–was the least bit improper. Jules certainly didn’t seem to think anything was wrong, and from the glimpse he got of his package as he walked over, barely constrained by his green jock. “How was breakfast, sir? It seems that you cleaned every plate.”

“Absolutely…delicious,” he said, Junior taking a moment to suck on his neck, “You’re a wonderful chef.”

“You know,” Jules said, “I have other talents other than cooking.” He stepped forward, his neon package inches from Max’s face, “Perhaps, sir, I could interest you in dessert?”

He shouldn’t. He was reaching out, groping Jule’s package roughly. What was he even doing, anymore? This…this wasn’t him. This wasn’t something he would have ever considered doing before, in that other life. His hand gripped Jules by the cock and pulled him closer, shoving his face into the pouch of his jock, sniffing and licking, listening to his houseboy moan, run his hand through his hair. He hooked a finger in the strap and tugged it down, freeing his young, already erect cock. He licked the head gently, and then began sucking, one of his hands slipping behind him, probing his taut hole with one finger. Junior had his silk shirt unbuttoned and was working lower, slipping his stepfather’s cock free from his pants and licking gently, slowly. It was a tease, but Max didn’t mind. He was enjoying this. These young men, desperate for him, desperate to please him. Because he was important. Because he mattered. He held Jules at the edge for a while, listening to him moan, two fingers inside him, pressing into him, and finally he came. Only then did he heft himself up from his chair, gut aching but he pushed past it. Junior had kept him hard, had kept him prepared, and he pushed Jules over the table, pushing his cock inside him with a single, firm thrust.

Max Meets Junior (Part 7)

This is a continuation of an older story of mine, one I never got around to posting, because it never got completely finished. That said, I thought this next portion was worth sharing! The first six parts can be found here:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Max woke up, naked, lying in a king sized poster bed, in the middle of a room approximately the size of half his apartment. He had absolutely no idea where he was. He threw off the sheets and scrambled up, wracking his brain. The day before, he could remember saving his job, he could remember talking with Mr. Herman about who to fire, and then he’d come home, and Junior had been here, and he’d fucked him. Finally fucked his hot stepson in his young ass, and fuck it had felt good, so fucking good. He grabbed his cock, and gave it a stroke, remembering how it had grown, seven inches of thick cock, but none of this should matter, he shouldn’t be thinking about Junior he should be trying…trying to figure out where he is.

But he knew where he was. He was home–his home. He had never seen this room before in his life, but he knew it was the master bedroom of his very large home in a gated community, where he lived with his stepson Junior. He knew that he could afford the mortgage because he was no longer a low level manager, but rather Vice President of Human Resources. It couldn’t be true, Things like this didn’t just happen overnight, and yet here he was, wriggling his toes into the carpet of his massive bedroom, admiring the broad windows overlooking a beautifully manicured backyard and pool surrounded by a high sturdy fence and thick foliage for ample privacy. His kingdom. His own private estate. His, and his stepson’s, and no one else’s.

He felt a strange rush in him, at that realization. An odd satisfaction, a pride that felt alien to him. He’d always felt good about himself, for being a man of modest means and simple taste, easily satisfied, but suddenly, looking out at this place, there was voice clamoring in him for more. He had more than he could ever need, but was it enough? He turned away from the window, suddenly finding it a bit hard to breathe. What was all of this? How could any of this have even happened? He wanted it, he knew that, he was glad for it, but…but should he want it? Would he have wanted it a few days ago?

Then, a more important question occurred to him–shouldn’t he be at work right now? He’d talked to…Mr. Herman yesterday–Wednesday–even though that felt like a past life. Shouldn’t it be Thursday? He grabbed his phone–it was already ten in the morning. With a panicked rush, he ran around the room opening doors until he found a walk-in closet stuffed with suits much more expensive than anything he’d ever owned previously, pulled one out and started getting dressed. He had underwear and pants half on when the door opened, and a completely naked Junior stepped into the room, and looked at him quizzically. “Daddy? What are you doing? It’s Saturday.”

Max stared at him. “Saturday? But…but yesterday was Wednesday, and I have to meet…Mr. Herman, we have to discuss Julian, the…the patents…”

“Oh Daddy, don’t worry about that! I took care of it for you. In fact, I took care of a lot of things for you, as you can see.” Junior crossed the room to where Max was, pulled the shirt from his hand and examined it for wrinkles. “I do hate it when people make me dance hard for my job, you know, but I must say it is always so much more satisfying when they finally give in. And you gave a whole lot, much more than I ever expected.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“Daddy, it’ll be a bit hard to adjust I know, but I did it all for you–for us. So we can be happy. Now get those pants off–I’ll have Jules iron them for you this afternoon. For now, let’s find you something more comfortable to wear, and then it’s time for breakfast.”

Max tried to protest, tried to pry a more coherent explanation from his stepson, but Junior seemed more interested in clothing, sifting through the closet until he settled on a set of red silk pajamas which he cajoled Max into. The fabric felt amazing, but not nearly as amazing as Junior’s hands on his chest. He leaned in and tried to kiss him, but Junior stopped him with a finger. “Now now, we can’t get started with that just yet, or we’ll never get out of the bedroom today.”

“Would that…really be a bad thing?” Max asked, running his hands over Junior’s shoulders.

“”Oh, but Jules has put so much effort into breakfast, I’d simply hate for him to have wasted it. He does so admire you–not partaking would be rather rude, you know.”

Jules–Junior had mentioned that name several times now, but he still had no idea who he was talking about. He tried to ask, but the question was forgotten with a short, but intense kiss shared between them, as Junior buttoned on the silk shirt. Then he broke away, fetched a pair of leather loafers, Max slid his feet into them, and he followed his naked stepson out of the bedroom and into the house proper.

It was…big. That was the fact that kept occurring to him, as they moved down the hallway lined with guest rooms, a study, a small library, down a curved staircase to the ground floor, where he was finally able to smell and hear food cooking in the kitchen–however, they didn’t go to the kitchen–Junior led him to the dining room instead, where the long oak table which could seat twelve had two settings at one end. He took his place at the head; Junior poured him a mimosa, and then whisked off to the kitchen to see whether Jules was ready. He only had a moment to marvel at the opulence of the room, before Junior opened the door and a young man, no older than twenty-two or twenty-three strode into the room carrying a covered platter, wearing nothing other than a neon green jockstrap. Max was facing the door, and all he could do was stare, his jaw agape at the young man striding across the room, his eyes glued to the young man’s crotch, bouncing to and fro as he set the platter down in front of the two settings. “Good morning, sir,” Jules said with a giggle, “Glad to see someone was able to…rouse you this morning.”

The Coachman’s Cure (Sketch)

Based off the character from Pinocchio.

The coachman had started out, at first, for the money of it. You could make a pretty penny off a jackass, back when they were useful–mines, the circus, farms. What did it matter, a few children disappearing here and there? Why go asking questions about Pleasure Island off the coast, who had built it, and what it was for? It was convenient, and profitable, and so long as those two boxes were checked, the coachman was satisfied. But it wasn’t long before there just wasn’t as much gold to be had from an ass anymore. The world was changing and so he began looking for other ventures and schemes–but he soon found that things were not nearly as simple as he’d imagined.

There were the dreams, at first. Lost on the island, wandering among the attractions and bars and rides, all alone, the braying in the distance coming closer until he would wake in a cold sweat, hands flying to his ears and mouth, certain he would be changed in the night, but always normal, for now, but the dreams only grew more intense. He took the boys there on a hunch, and sure enough, with a fresh shipment of asses bound for the mainland, he slept like a baby for weeks–but the nightmares returned, and the coachman understood. The island wasn’t simply a place for profit. For all intents and purposes, it was an employer–one he would need to keep pleased, if he was going to have a happy future.

He kept up his other business for a while, but everything fell by the wayside before long. It was just him and the island, unchanging with time, never growing old, always on the hunt for stupid young men to lure across the water, and ferry back in their cages. The island seemed to consume more and more of him, in time. At times, he would catch himself wandering among the attractions, talking to it like it was a person–it never replied, but he knew what it would say, in any case.

It got harder and harder, even as the island grew hungrier and hungrier. He couldn’t keep up–he wouldn’t be able to keep up, for too much longer, not if he didn’t find a better trap. Still, he’d managed to get a few…deals going, with some of the fraternities at the colleges around the city. They would send troublesome young men his way, and in return, he’d give them a fresh mascot (if they wanted) and a sack of gold for the pleasure. Gold was easy, after all–the island could give him as much as he needed, to sweeten a deal. But he could tell, now, that he was losing himself–his humanity. Slower than most, but it was happening all the same.

With most, it was the ears first. The ears, the teeth, the laugh. But with him, it wasn’t–it was his cock and balls, much to his embarrassment. He woke up one morning, to find a sheath running up his crotch, an eight inch cock flopping out–humanish, but also…wrong. He tried to ignore it, and stepped up his recruitment efforts, but it only got worse–the fur spreading from his crotch up his belly and down his legs, the beginning of a tail pushing out above his ass. He knew he had to do something–but what? He asked the island, he begged it for an answer, but it gave him nothing.

He picked up a shipment a couple weeks later–twelve frat brothers going on a pleasure cruise around the cape, with a stop at a mystery destination for an evening of pleasure. He could hear them from the caves at the cove, the laughter turning to screaming turning to braying–and listening to it, he found his inhuman cock beginning to…harden. He tried to ignore it as best he could–any indulgence on the island was enough to tempt things along, and he still had no intention of letting go of his humanity now, not after so many centuries of this. But his cock didn’t soften, and it wasn’t long before a figure came tumbling down the steps of the cove, hobbling and lurching for the boat.

There was usually a clever one, but the coachman could deal with them easily enough. He picked up the gun and leveled it at the donkeyboy charging toward him, bringing him to a halt, and told him to turn around and go have some more fun with his friends. The young man pleaded with him, everything word a frightened bray, and looking at him, his cock was growing even harder, forming a massive, obscene tent in the front of his pants. He…knew what he wanted–what the island wanted–but was it safe?

“You wanna…you wanna be normal, boy?” the coachman said, setting the rifle aside, “I got a cure, I suppose, but you won’t like it.”

The donkeyboy nodded and scrambled for the boat, but pulled up short when the coachman undid the front of his pants, and unleashed a massive, foot long donkey cock, stiff and leaking. His eyes went wide, and the coachman laughed. “Come on boy, you wanna be normal again? A real boy? Then suck, ‘n if you do real well, I can help.”

The donkey boy shook his head, but as he retreated, his hands and feet both solidified into hooves, leaving him wobbling on his hind legs a moment before he fell forward onto all fours. What choice did he have? He trotted up onto the deck of the boat, and started sucking at the coachman’s inhuman cock. He grabbed the donkeyboy by the long ears and started fucking his throat, working the shaft in as deep as he could, and it was only a minute before he felt sweet release, gout after gout of donkey cum pouring from his balls, directly into the boy’s mouth, and as he drank, the coachman watched as the last of the boy’s human face was swallowed by fur, a snout pushing out, and he brayed in confusion and horror at himself–but before he could run, the coachman had a loop of rope tight around his neck, and hauled him down into the hold of his ship.

When the new donkey was secured, the coachman inspected himself–he was by no means back to normal, but the hair had receded slightly, and the head of his cock flared slightly less–how many loads would it take, he supposed? His balls were churning again, the distant braying of the boys on the island making him hard, and he set off from the boat. There were bound to be a few holdouts left–why not allow himself a bit of pleasure too?

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 8)

“Well I gotta say fucker, for a cub, you make one hot fuckin’ daddy, you know?”

“Well don’t get used to it–that’s not…something I usually do…” Carter said, still feeling mortified. This was so unusual for him,

daddying out for an evening and waking up with a cub in his arms? That wasn’t usually his style at all. He’d been in for quite a shock, when he’d untangled himself from the young muscle cub in his bed, gotten up and seen himself in the mirror. The changes from the night before had reverted quite a bit, but that didn’t make it any less jarring to look at himself, covered in hair still matted with the cub’s dried cum, beard down to his chest with several streaks of white. The muscle cub, a young man named Wyatt, had been surprised as well, that the sexy daddy who’d picked him up while he was out of it on a Hot Shot had ended up being a chubby little cub like this. His tongue was thick still, and his cock was a bit less red, and a bit less hard, but he could go another round–not that the cub was likely up for it.

“Got any coffee? My head is pounding.”

I can make you some. Those Hot Shots at Cubster’s can be a doozy.”

“Fuck, I should know better. Those things always fuck me up,” he said, “Still, it’s worth it–how about that fuckin’ load, man? Ever seen one that big?”

Carter had seen a few larger, but not many. Mostly he was trying to connect the dots of the night, and the day, before, but nothing seemed to line up very well. Still, it had been a wild night–and now it was a new day. You just had to roll with it sometimes, and sort it out as you go.

“You, uh, wanna take a shower, while I brew a cup for you?” Carter offered.

Wyatt shook his head, raised one arm over his head and took a sniff, “Nah–Daddy loves when I come home smelling like fucking–drives him nuts! If I hurry, I can catch him before he heads off to work, and he’ll probably add his load to yours, if I can keep it in there–damn, you really stretched me out!”

Carter smiled, “I feel like I should at least get you breakfast or something.”

Wyatt just shook his head, and hauled on his rubber shirt. “Thanks man, just the coffee, and then I should get going.”

There was something welling up in Carter’s chest, some…longing he didn’t quite know how to explain, or put into words, but he swallowed it back down while he made a pot of coffee for them both. The cub took a mug and nearly chugged it, and then put on his sneakers and then bounded back up, a big grin plastered across his face, a grin that seemed…son familiar to him. Had Carter seen him before? Known him from somewhere? He didn’t really want him to leave, and yet he had no real reason for feeling that way, as far as he could know. Perhaps in another life, they’d known each other. The city felt like a parade of ghosts to him, at times. All of your lovers were just strangers in waiting; every stranger was a lover to be made. It could feel so lonely one moment, and then like the coziest family the next.

He walked Wyatt to the door, and gave him a hug and a kiss, smelling the cum on him, feeling a desire for another round rising in him, and in his crotch. He wasn’t really one for cubs, ever, but something about this one just made him…hungry.

“You know, I’m pretty much always free on Thursday nights–you wanna meet up again next week? I’d love to see you in some rubber, if you have any, maybe spend the night at Slick’s, see if we can’t bring that dirty daddy out again to play some more,” Wyatt said with a grin, “He was a lot of fun–not that you wouldn’t be too, of course.”

Carter said that he would like that, and they traded phone numbers to keep in touch, before Wyatt slipped out of the apartment and down to the street, joining the other throngs of men parading home after another night out in the city. The loss was there, but it was easing somewhat, and Carter made himself a nice breakfast to go with his coffee, since food usually made him feel much better, and by noon, he was feeling more like himself–and looking more like himself too, except for a few smile lines in his brow, and a couple flecks of grey in his goatee. Still, he had to admit that they looked good on him, in a way. He laughed at himself, imagining him changing into a bear. It was hard to imagine after being a cub for so long, but it wasn’t exactly out of the question, now was it? Hell, if Wyatt had his way, he’d probably be a full fledged daddy for real by this time next week. There was a buzz from his phone, and it was from Wyatt–a picture of his pert ass, cum dribbling down the inside of his thigh.

“Just like I thought–the smell of you on me got Daddy all excited. Thanks again, see you next week hot stuff.”

Carter grinned, feeling his cock throb, and jacked off to the picture, before sending Wyatt a pic of his load. Every stranger was a lover to be made–never had that felt more true to him in his lives.

-END-

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 7)

“I’m not going to fuck you, Wyatt, not like this.”

“You want to fuck me though. You want that daddy dick in this cubhole so fucking bad, I can fucking tell,” Wyatt said, and he crawled over, rubbing his red goatee against Carter’s shorts, “You wanted me in the club–I saw you staring at me the whole time, and fuck, it was so fucking sexy. They told me if I drank it, I’d, fuck, I don’t even know anymore, it’s too fucking hot in here.” He hauled off the rubber shirt and chucked it on the floor, “I want you Carter–I want you to know that I still want you, and I…I know you want me, and I can’t leave without this, and you want it too, I can fucking tell. So fucking come on daddy, give me that fucking cock.”

Carter tried one more time to convince Wyatt that this was a bad idea, that in his state, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted, but Wyatt got up, pushed Carter against the wall and kissed him, and the musk rolling off him, the way his saliva stung his lips and numbed them slightly, the heat of his muscles pressed against his soft chub–Carter stopped fighting, at some point, and leaned into it. “Yeah, fuck, when I was watching you cub out on that dance floor–you’re right, I wanted you fuckin’ bad.”

“I know daddy, I know. I wanted you to.”

“You say that to every daddy, I bet.”

“So what if I do? That doesn’t make it less true every time, does it?”

Carter spun them around and shoved Wyatt to the wall now, dove in, licking him from his pecs, up his neck, to the side of his face. His sweat was as spicy as his spit, numbing his face, numbing his feelings, everything other than his raging daddy dick. He dropped his shorts, and it jutted out, surrounded by a thicket of grey hair, a hefty foreskin hanging off the head. It wasn’t his cock–not the one Carter was used to seeing, but fuck it felt good and right, rubbing it against Wyatt’s ridged torso, listening to the cub groan in excitement. Yeah–he was a fucking hot shot alright, and Carter was more than happy to help him out. He reached down, and gently brushed his fingers across Wyatt’s cock, watching him shudder and nearly collapse in an indescribable mush of pleasure and intense feeling. “What’s wrong cub? You don’t like daddy’s hand on your hot cock?”

“Fuck, it hurts!”

Carter gripped it a bit harder now, giving it one slow stroke and then another, wrapping a hand around the small of Wyatt’s back as the cub arched into him, pulling them together, the heat of him infectious, Carter finding a delight in this sexy cub being entirely at the mercy of his hand, shuddering and gasping, begging him to stop, but craving it all the same, his mind lost in the heat of sensation until he was just drooling and moaning–right where Carter wanted him. He grabbed Wyatt by the hand and pulled him over to the bed, pushed him onto it onto his back, hauled up his legs, and then got down and started eating out his cubhole, Wyatt’s bright red cock jutting straight up from his crotch. “Oh god daddy, please! Please just fuck me already, I can’t take it anymore.”

Carter took his time–after all, a daddy needed to treat his cubs right, and make sure they were nice and open, especially with a cock of his size. He had big hands now, and even then he couldn’t quite touch finger and thumb around the girth of his much larger cock. Besides, he kind of liked feeling him squirm, wanted to make sure that even if Wyatt forgot everything else about their time together, he’d at the very least remember this night, and this fuck. Yeah–Carter was going to make sure this cub wouldn’t forget a moment. His tongue slipped into his hole, tasting him, precum drooling from his foreskin as he drove in deeper, and after a few minutes, slipped a spit wet finger into Wyatt’s hole–and then another. The cub was pleading at this point, hands inches from his cock, unable to even try and touch it. It was a deeper red now, his balls throbbing and swelling, signalling the cub was close.

“Tell me boy, you know why they call it a hot shot?” Carter said, as he ran the head of his cock up and down Wyatt’s crack. The cub didn’t reply–he might not even be listening, “Well, if you don’t, I have a feeling you’re about to find out.” He pushed the thick head into Wyatt’s hole, the cub groaning in fevered excitement, cock throbbing a bit faster, and when Carter drove all the way in, it was more than Wyatt could take. His cock erupted in a massive fountain of cum, shooting a couple of feet into the air before splattering back down all over his body and the bed sheets around him, the cum so hot it was steaming. “Yeah–that. That’s why they call it a hot shot. Feel good?”

Carter took the moans and groans for yes, since Wyatt could barely put a word together in his mouth–he just rode the aftershocks of the massive orgasm as Carter fucked him, his ass loose and eager. He ran his hands all over Wyatt’s body, smearing around the cub’s cum as it cooled and turned tacky on his skin, and he realized how close he was as well. He picked up the pace a bit, and with a few more deep drives of his cock he exploded inside Wyatt’s guts, and then collapsed on top of him, Wyatt wrapping his arms and legs around Carter’s massive frame, feeling the thick grey hair covering his back now as well, and kissed him for as long as Carter’s cock remained inside of him, which turned out to be quite a while, before it finally softened and slipped out, a small stream of cum following it.

By now, Wyatt was coming down off his drink, shaking and a bit confused, and so Carter crawled into bed with him and just held the cub for a while, keeping him close, soothing him and telling him that everything was going to be alright. At some point, the cub drifted off to sleep, snoring gently in his arms, and Carter could barely believe that just a week ago, he’d been…well, who he’d been before wasn’t really that important, he supposed. He was going to have a great time, being a cub for a while, and in the future? Who knew what was in store for either of them? The change you curse is the opportunity you need, as they say, and not too long after that, Carter had slipped off too, snoring a bit deeper than the cub, and they stayed that way until the morning.

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 6)

“Wyatt, we can’t do this,” Carter said, pushing him back. “You have a daddy already, this is just supposed to be a fun night. I don’t want it to get complicated–any more complicated than it already is going to be.”

“Yeah, but you’re fuckin’ hot though,” Wyatt said, cub soda sparkling in his eyes–along with something else, a certain fire. “Or fuck, you could be, damn. I feel fucked up.”

“You kind of are fucked up–did one of those guys give you another drink?”

Wyatt nooded, smirked, and went in for another kiss, grinding up against Carter’s leg. “Think he called it a hot shot or something, tasted like sucking on a dick sized pepper.”

“Fuck, we gotta get you home.”

“Why, so you can fuckin’ ravage my cub hole daddy?” Wyatt groaned in his ear.

“No, so we can put you to fuckin’ bed boy,” Carter growled back at him, not noticing his voice slipping a bit lower than usual. “Because when you come down off one of those, you’re going to feel like your head is in a vice, and right now you’re too stupid and cocky to not do something you’ll regret.”

“Yeah? Got any ideas, daddy? I’m happy to hear them.”

“Come on, let’s go,” Carter said, frustrated that his night treating his changing daddy to his first night as a proper cub was quickly turning into a night he’d spent plenty of times with other cub friends of him, dragging them home after getting a little too wasted, and a little too beyond themselves, depositing them on their couch to sleep it off before heading back out to get back to the night’s fun. Wyatt was more than happy to hang off his arm, and it was clear the hot shot was shooting through his system, his muscles throbbing a bit larger, growing slightly taller, his goatee thickening slightly as his hair shrank down into a buzzcut, his auburn hair brightening to a strawberry blonde. His cock and balls were larger and throbbing red, looking like the pepper Wyatt had mentioned before. He wouldn’t go soft for a few hours at least, and trying to jack off while on a hot shot could be excruciating, but if you didn’t cum, well, that was excruciating all on its own. That was part of the fun, really–an ever escalating spiral of horniness, losing yourself to this red veil of lust for the evening, inhibitions dropping to nothing, used by anyone around you until you finally explode–Carter knew from personal experience, but it wasn’t a drink for a newbie by any means.

Wyatt grew more and more restless as they got closer to Carter’s place, lunging for another kiss, whispering horrifically naughty shit in Carter’s ear, groping his cock and sliding his hand down the front of his denim shorts. Carter resisted it all, and Wyatt was getting more and more frustrated, until he shoved Carter up against a business shuttered for the night, and in the doorway ground his rock hard cock against him, begging Carter, begging daddy, for a little taste, a little pleasure, he was just so hot! He was hot to the touch, sweat pouring off him in buckets, and he reeked of musk–the scent was intoxicating all on its own, and Carter found himself…wondering what it might be like to just shove him down and make the cub suck his daddy cock for a bit–

He got hold of himself again, slipped out of the doorway where Wyatt had pinned him down, grabbed him by the hand and dragged him off. The apartment was just another block, and he managed to get them both there without any further incident. Inside, Wyatt immediately tried to tear Carter’s clothes off of him, begging for his cock, begging to get fucked, but Carter just shoved him into the bedroom, told him to hang tight for just a second while he mixed him something to help him come down a bit, and he could sleep it off, shut the bedroom door between them, and heaved a sigh, proud of himself for holding it together as well as he did with that cub pawing all over him, even if it had made him feel pretty good to be the focus of the hot fucker’s attentions.

Carter went to the kitchen to fix a hangover fix he’d perfected for himself, and passed a mirror on the way there, pausing to take in the shift he’d suffered. He looked to be in his forties at this point, and while not quite a daddy, he was certainly no longer a cub by any stretch of the imagination. He heaved a sigh, thinking that if he was himself, he’d probably find this body hot as hell, but all he could think about right now was how Wyatt had looked on that dance floor, sweat dripping off him, running down his body, the way he’d looked over at him, the way he’d looked at him on that sidewalk, the way his breath had smelled, the way his pits had smelled, how hard that cock had felt against his gut. He was groping his own cock thoughtlessly, his other hand tweaking a nipple, hair turning a bit greyer as he stood there, remembering it–wanting it…but he stopped, and cursed the whole shitty situation. He…did want to fuck him, but on their own terms, not like this. Not with Wyatt strung out on a hot shot.

He mixed the drink he used to come down after a wild night, trying to keep his mind off of Wyatt as best he could, and went back to the bedroom, but when he got to the door–he swore he heard someone crying. He opened the door, and sure enough, there Wyatt was, sitting on the ground with his back against the bed, red hot cock jutting up from his lap, tears streaming down his face. He looked over at Carter, thought about hiding them, but how could he? Everything felt so close to the surface. “I’m such an idiot, fuck,” he muttered, “I should have known.”

Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Carter said, setting the drink on the dresser, “You should have seen me when I shot two of those one night, fuck. It was a…great night, but it took me days to feel like myself again.”

Do…I not remember that because I forgot?”

No, that was before we were together, and I never told you about it, I don’t think. If you thought I was wild when we were together, you should have seen me before. I was a hot mess–literally at times.”

Wyatt shuddered, went to touch his cock, and cringed, “Fuck, it feels like its on fuckin’ fire, but it feels so fuckin’ good!”

Carter got the drink from the dresser and handed it to him. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better in a bit.”

Wyatt took the glass and looked at it, and then up at Carter–and before Carter could stop him, he dumped it on the floor next to him.

“What the fuck? Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Because I don’t want to drink it–I just want you to fuck me already, daddy.”

December Patreon Suggested Stories Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

Merry Christmas everyone!

Also, in other news, Patreon is hovering right at around the $700 level–it’s gone over and under a couple times this month, just as things have fluctuated, so for January, I’m going to go ahead and start posting seven days a week! What those two days of additional content are going to look like is going to fluctuate, though they probably won’t be normal posts. Instead, I would like to get back into doing things like interactive stories, occasional caption stories, metawriting entries, and other possible ideas I’ve had rolling around in my head.

This January, I’ve decided to start off with a new interactive story to start things off! In the past, voting for the different choices at the end of the story has been difficult to deal with, mostly because tumblr doesn’t have a way to post polls, so this time around, I’m going to be doing something a bit different! There will be two (identical) polls going for each entry in the story, one on twitter (my handle is @WesleyBracken) and one on Patreon, for Patrons only (anyone contributing at least one dollar can access it). That means, Patrons get two votes, essentially, since they can access both polls, while everyone else can vote once on Twitter. I’ll be sure to provide clear links to both polls, to make the process as simple as possible! The first entry in the story will be up on January 3rd!

For your pleasure, here’s one of the Christmas themed shorts I wrote for Patreon contributors this month! We’ll finish off “City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers” over the next couple of days!

Christmas Justice

“And have you been good this year?” Nick asked the little girl on his lap. She nodded vigorously, and started rattling off a list of things she was hoping to get from Santa, while her tired parents looked on the scene. She asked if his beard was real, he gave a laugh, and assured her it was, but when she tugged on it, and he nearly yelped, he almost shouted at her–but kept the rage down. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes, and all of this will be over. He winked at her over his spectacles and smiled while one of the elves took their photo, and then she was whisked off, and replaced by another child on his old, aching knee.

Nick hadn’t asked for this job–no, he hadn’t asked for any of this. One week before, he had been seventeen, out of school for break, and hanging around the mall in the throngs of shoppers with his friends, and stupidly, on a dare, he had agreed to shoplift something from one of the stores. He couldn’t even remember what it had been, something cheap and small, and he’d gotten out of the store with it, on the way to meet back up with his friends, when a man had grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.

“Where do you think you’re going with that?” he asked, and palmed the bauble from Nick’s pocket, where he’d stashed it. “That’s very, very naughty of you, you know, stealing like that.”

Nick denied it, and tried to pull away from the man, but his grip was like iron. He’d dragged Nick into a shadowy hallway off the mall concourse, and when he’d woken up–well, Nick wasn’t the young man he remembered being. He was fat–easily 350 pounds, with a thick white beard, his hair balding past the crown of his head, face wrinkled, hands, knees, hips and back aching. He’d stood up in horror, and saw that his clothes had changed as well–he was in a Santa costume, and before he could do anything else, one of the elves from the mall had spotted him, dragged him off, and sat him down in the chair, forcing him to listen to these snot nosed brats beg him for presents, taking picture after picture with him all day long.

That night, when he was finished with his shift, the old man had found him–given him a set of keys, and told Santa to go home to his place and get some rest. Nick had begged him to change him back, and the man had said, “Be good for the next week, and on Christmas Eve, I’ll give you a life you deserve, Santa.”

It had been cryptic and suspicious, but it was the only hope he had. He lived alone in a tiny, dingy apartment, eating and drinking himself to sleep, cock unable to even get hard to jack off or think of having sex with anyone. He just felt miserable, old, and useless. Looking at himself in the mirror, especially naked, made him sick to his stomach, but it was just for a week, right? And now, ten minutes to quitting time, the line dwindling down on Christmas Eve–he was nearly there. The last child toddled off, and he breathed a heavy sigh, as did the elves around him, and they started closing up shop, while Nick went off to get changed and head home.

But on his way there, he found someone waiting for him–the old stranger–and his heart leapt. He tried to run, but his old knees weren’t up to it–he just hobbled on a bit faster until he was in front of him. “Fuck, please–please, I’m sorry, just change me back, please!”

The man smiled. “Are you sure? You did such a good job, making so many children so very happy. Don’t you think being a jolly old man suits you?”

“Fuck you! I fucking hate this. I hate malls, I hate being old–but most of all I hate being fat! My dick doesn’t work and I fucking hate this, all of it. This isn’t fucking fair! You can’t just fucking do this to me, change me back!”

“Disgusting, eh? You don’t think a mature look suits you? Well, perhaps it doesn’t–not quite yet. But you do need to learn to better appreciate your elders, I think. And life, of course, isn’t fair, Nick–it never is, never has been, and never will be. But life can, on occasion, be just, you know?”

It was happening again–he could feel it. He was changing, his vision fading, and he clutched at the wall to steady himself as he went down on his fat ass, the last words of the old man reverberating in his head as darkness overtook him.

Nick startled awake, but didn’t know how much time had passed. Looking down, he wanted to cry–he wasn’t back in his old body, and the old man was nowhere to be seen. Using the wall, he managed to heave himself upright, and waddled down the hall to the locker room there, to see what had happened to him. In the mirror, staring back at him, wasn’t Santa–but rather, the image of a massively obese mall cop, his chubby figure straining the uniform he’d squeezed himself into, chins overflowing his collar, barely hidden behind the short grey beard he had over his face. The worst part though, was that looking at himself there…he felt a shiver of arousal. He looked…good. Hot, even. He gripped his flab and gave it a shake, and while his stomach turned a bit, much stronger that the disgust was a sense of humiliating thrill. Look at him–such a fat fucking pig, fuck! He gave a little snort, and his short, soft cock leaked a bit of precum into the front of his uniform pants–and then the door opened, and Doug stepped into the room with a knowing smile.

Doug, the mall santa, who’d just finished his last shift. He looked the part, and staring at the old man in the red suit…Nick’s knees went weak with desire. “There’s my police pig–it’s your last night to get Santa’s dick! you’d better make it count, and show Santa what a good boy you’ve been this year.”

“Oh fuck yeah Santa, this pig has been extra good this year–give me anything you want, sir, anything!” Nick said, dropping his pants and underwear to the floor, bending over the sink, letting Doug step behind him and slip his cock into Nick’s hole. As Doug fucked him, more and more memories of this life filled Nick’s mind–his role as the bumbling, obese mall cop, too fat to really catch anyone or be of any use at all, who usually was found stuffing himself at the food court all day–when he wasn’t cruising old daddies and sucking their cocks in the bathroom during his shifts. Nick–the old Nick–never really went away, nor did the horror of his new life, and on occasion, the old man would pay him a visit. Nick always did his best, servicing the stranger’s old cock with as much gusto as he could, but he hadn’t agreed to change him back–yet. But maybe one day, he would–that was the last hope Nick had for his new life.

December Patreon Suggested Stories Ready to Download! | Wesley Bracken on Patreon

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 5)

The conversation turned to lighter topics than fading love, and when they finished the meal, they left, and walked the few blocks to Cubster’s Dance Hall. It was one of the few places in the city where a cub could go to just, well, be a cub–or where anyone could go to be a cub, really, even for just a night. It had a very strict “no daddies allowed” policy–it was strictly for cub-on-cub fun, though daddies could always get a piece of uninhibited cubdom, so long as they imbibed a few of the club’s special drinks first in an antebar. The missing daddies made it a special oasis–after all, a cub around any daddy could find it…difficult to resist, not that they usually objected. It was a constant worry though, in some ways, and having a place to go where you felt a little less of that pressure could be nice for an evening. Wyatt had never been there himself–he’d never really wanted to be a cub for a night, he’d been very happy as a daddy. But now, he was actually rather intrigued, and kind of excited to be going to somewhere rather exclusive–although it wasn’t like Wyatt hadn’t been a feature at several daddy exclusive pipe bars around the city.

The bouncer checked them at the door–and seemed particularly happy about Wyatt joining the party. Inside, the hall inside was all shimmering lights and throbbing music, the scent of musk and sugar on the air. Wyatt would have found it overstimulating before, but now it just felt like pure excitement. Carter got them a couple of cub sodas, and by the time he got back, Wyatt was already out on the dance floor, swaying and gyrating. As his daddy, Wyatt hadn’t had a rhythmic bone in his body–but apparently this new cub was going to be quite the dancer. Carter joined him, after a few sips of the soda–the house drinks always helped him feel like he fit in a bit better, slimming him down slightly, the energy in the room infecting him just a little more. Before too long, he and Wyatt had lost track of time, and of themselves, dancing to song after song, grinding together, enjoying each other, and the longer he was with him there on the floor, the more Carter found himself looking at Wyatt–at his ridged, furry abs and thick chest, strong shoulders and perfect ass. Was it jealousy, or something more? Everything felt a bit slippery, when you were around someone changing. More than a few cubs were eyeing him as well–particularly the sort of cubs who tended to shun daddies entirely, and prefer the company of their own. When they finally exhausted themselves and returned to their sodas, several made passes at him, suggesting they slip away to the back rooms, offering him drinks, but Wyatt politely refused. Still, it was obvious he was enjoying himself, but Carter wanted a break–he suggested he at least take up someone on the offer to dance, and so Wyatt stepped back out onto the floor with a bevy of other men, while Carter sat back, relaxed, and watched the fledgling cub enjoy himself.

Watching with amusement became a certain rapt fascination, and that fascination slowly twisted into something Carter wasn’t particularly familiar with, which was a pounding desire for his friend. Realizing what he was feeling, he nervously took another sip from his soda, but the rush of sugar just tasted cloying and bitter–he gagged on it and spit it back in the glass, confused, until a couple moments later, when a bouncer walked up to him. “Hey, what’s the deal? You know the rules–you’re not usually one to slip away on us, Carter.”

Carter was confused, but the bartender directed him to the mirror behind the bar, and Carter blushed horribly, realizing what had happened. His early twenty-something face had grown a bit craggy–he was, arguably, still a cub, though one who had seen, perhaps, a few too many years to be convincing. “Sorry man, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Well tone it back down, or I’ll have to boot you for the evening. Need another drink?”

Carter shook his head, and took another drink of the one he had, but it tasted even more vile than it had before, and he couldn’t help but spit it out. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

The bouncer had seen it plenty of times before, and he hauled Carter up from the table and dragged him to the door. It happened to everyone, sometimes, he told Carter a bit apologetically. “Why not try Dickhole for a bit? Plenty of cubs looking for that down there,” he said, and pushed him out onto the sidewalk, “But don’t pull this shit again, got it? I thought you were better than that.”

The bouncer went back inside, and Carter was left standing there on the sidewalk, feeling rather humiliated and horrified–and a bit worried too. Wyatt was still in there, and he might think he’d abandoned him without even saying goodbye. But a moment later, Wyatt, dripping with sweat, exited the building and bounded down the steps to where Carter was standing. “What happened? I saw that guy drag you out, are you–oh…” Wyatt paused. It was getting dark, but he could see the slight shift in Carter’s face, the tinge of silver in his goatee. “Are you…daddying out, man?”

Carter blushed, “Y-Yeah, I guess I did a bit.”

“I’ve never seen you do that before.”

“It doesn’t happen very often, trust me.”

“Was…was it me?”

Carter couldn’t bring himself to say it. It felt so awful, as things had been turning towards friendship, for this to suddenly erupt from him, unasked for. “Look, lets go to Dickhole, alright? I know a few regular daddies who will set me–well, set us–straight right away.”

“You didn’t answer my question Carter, was it me?”

He sighed, “Yeah. Yeah, it was you. You aren’t even my type, and I don’t know why–”

He was interrupted by Wyatt lunging into him, pressing his lips to Carter’s mouth, and the smell of him, sweaty from dancing, the tinge of rubber, Carter couldn’t help but moan into him. “It had better have been me–I was dancing for you, after all.”

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 4)

Carter woke up to empty arms, and had a slight panic, worried that Wyatt had slipped away while he was asleep, and made good on his threat to leave without spending their final night together. In all honesty, he wouldn’t have blamed him–changing was always hard, and it can be tempting to just throw yourself into the new as quickly as you can, in order to avoid the heartbreak of leaving behind whatever it was you were leaving. Still, Wyatt wasn’t like that–or rather, the old Wyatt wasn’t like that, and Carter hoped that there was still enough of that Wyatt around for them to have one last hurrah. He sat up and looked around at the room–at his room. The touches of Wyatt’s had begun to disappear–small things, like the pictures on the dresser, and the chair he liked to sit in while he put on his boots.

Then he heard the toilet flush, and a couple moments later a stranger pushed open the bedroom door, looking a bit sheepish and embarrassed. Wyatt was easily in his thirties at this point, and the grey in his hair was reduced to just a few flecks around his beard–now trimmed down to a goatee–and a light dusting in his chest hair, which was a bit thinner than Carter remembered it being. He had lost quite a bit more weight as well, and was probably a hundred pounds lighter than he had been. At the same time, he filled out in muscle, especially across his chest and shoulders. He wasn’t quite Carter’s type, but he couldn’t deny that he was becoming quite a hot cub. He checked the clock, and saw that they’d slept for quite a while–it was almost five. Time for a light meal, and then time to hit the town.

“So, I was thinking Cubsters,” Carter said, “I doubt you’ve even been there.”

Wyatt furrowed his brow. “Doesn’t that club have a no daddies policy? I…well, I woke up pretty horny, honestly. Hornier than I’ve been in a while,” Wyatt gave his semihard cock a few strokes–it was average, maybe a bit smaller than it had been. “Could really use a big daddy plowing my ass, you know?” he said, and flashed a very uncharacteristically cocky grin, caught himself, and nearly blushed to death. “Oh god, did I just say that?”

Carter just laughed. “Look, let’s start at Cubsters, dance a bit, have some drinks, and then lets go to Dickhole, and we can get you fixed up–get us both fixed up. You know I can always use some good daddy dick too.”

Wyatt liked that notion, and so the two of them negotiated on what to wear. Since Wyatt’s clothes had largely disappeared at this point–and what few things remained wouldn’t fit his new frame anyway–Carter helped him pick out an outfit he liked from his own clothes. They weren’t quite the same size, by any stretch, Carter had about seventy-five pounds on him, mostly chub, and a couple inches in height, but things worked out alright. In particular, some of Carter’s older rubber gear, from when he was a bit smaller, fit Wyatt like a glove. He looked at himself in the mirror, in the dark green tank and rubber shorts, with the crotch and ass missing, his cock erect and leaking already…and he was surprised by how excited he was. His old self would have never been caught dead in something like this, but the thought of everyone staring at him as he walked down the street, as he danced in the club with his friend–fuck, he wanted everyone to be looking at him. Shoes were easier–their size was almost the same, and he slipped into some green sneakers to match the outfit, and then Wyatt got dressed too, though he skipped the rubber, and went with a pair of denim booty shorts and a leather vest–a bit trashy, sure, but why steal Wyatt’s thunder? He looked fucking great in that gear, after all, and this was celebrating him, and his change.

They grabbed some food on the way, chatting a bit, losing some of the intimacy of before, and yet a closeness lingered which they both appreciated. The love was cooling, but both of them could feel something else filling out the space between them–something like friendship, but still a bit too muddled to really be seen clearly for anything at all. Wyatt, in particular, had relaxed after their emotional morning. He didn’t seem as concerned that he’d lose Carter entirely anymore, and he also was really enjoying himself. He felt so free like this, sitting there, ass and cock hanging out, all the other bears passing by sneaking glances at him–or just openly staring and groping themselves, hoping for a quick fuck or blowjob on the sidewalk. He would have taken a few of the older bears up on the offer, but resisted the urge–he wanted to spend time with Carter, before everything drifted away again. He wanted to hold onto this as long as he could–but he could already tell that when the time came, he’d be ready to let it go, and Carter would be ready too.

“So…now that you’re unattached, anyone you’re thinking about hitting up?” Wyatt asked, “I know you have plenty of fuckbuddies to choose from.”

Carter shrugged, “Nah, no one really. I…I always liked coming home to you. Did it bother you that I slept around so much?”

Wyatt shook his head, “Nah–I was a boring old fucker, and you were just having fun.”

“I think I’ll try the single thing for a bit. It never lasts of course–I know a few guys who would take me in tomorrow, if they found out about you changing. Hell, a few guys who would probably lock me up in a dungeon to keep me from going anywhere, and I wouldn’t mind a few of them doing it either.”

Wyatt just laughed, “I’m sure you’ll be happy.”

Carter nodded. “Don’t forget I was always happy with you though.”

City of Bears: Lovers and Strangers (Part 3)

It bothered Wyatt that Carter obviously had a longer memory of their relationship, before and during, than he did. To him, there had just always been Carter–his cub. Beyond that was just fuzz–it didn’t exist, not in the same way this did. It wasn’t true anymore, and so it wasn’t worth bothering to even remember. But now, their truth was fading already, and after feeling so solid, that fleeting realization was, if Wyatt was honest with himself, terrifying. It was always terrifying. He hated changing, he always had. That was why he threw himself into every new life as hard as he could, and tried his best to forget everything before. It was…easier, than trying to grapple with your own transitory nature–that your body would go on, but it would look entirely different, and everything else would simply evaporate into the void. Some bears, he knew, suffered from such anxiety that they almost never left their private spaces. Some couples, so deeply in love, they were walled in with each other, terrified to leave lest one of them disappear forever. But what kind of life was that? As unsettling as this was, it was still better to live–and you could live so much! Losing yourself was daunting, but then he thought of Levi, and his heart swelled again. There would always be love, at least, even if he was a stranger to him now.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Carter said into the silence, and Wyatt jerked from his thoughts.

“What?” Wyatt said, “Really? I don’t…know.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! You and your daddy dive bars, let’s go somewhere fun! You never wanted to go to a club with me, but you won’t be able to help yourself.”

It did sound fun, actually, and he smiled.

“See? You’re thinking about it. No, ‘I’ll just stay home with a book and smoke my pipe,’ for you anymore. ” Carter said, mocking his daddy’s low baritone, “You’re a new man!”

Wyatt looked shocked at Carter’s words, which confused the cub, and Wyatt hauled himself up from the table and went to his study, threw open the door, but the wall where his pipe rack had been–it was gone. All of them, gone, overnight. He’d had fifty pipes in that collection, meticulously cared for, all of them with a history, all of them with a story, all of them important, and just like that–gone. “My…my pipes. I lost my pipes…”

A smoke in the morning after breakfast, a smoke in the afternoon, and a smoke (or sometimes two, or three) in the evening. That was his routine, he had done it for years–he’d felt like he’d done it for years. It had been such a comfort, and he hadn’t even noticed it waning away. He hadn’t had a chance to even say goodbye to them all. The worst part was that he didn’t even really miss them–he wasn’t craving a smoke, but a hole had opened up, and looking around him, how many other things would fall into it? He turned and he gripped Carter tight, sobbing, “I don’t want to lose you, Carter, I don’t want to lose all of this! I…I know I have to go, but I…I can’t stand the thought of not missing you.”

Carter stood there, holding Wyatt, awkward and uncertain. He was usually the one crumbling emotionally, stressing about a bear who turned him down, horrified by some strange kink he’d done, nervous about himself and who he was–he turned to Wyatt for everything. Holding him now, a smaller him, a younger him–it wasn’t how it was supposed to work, but who else did he have, at the moment? Who else could understand it? He let him cry, trying to find words that might fix it, but there was nothing to say. Eventually, Wyatt either exhausted himself, or managed to bottle most of it back up, and he pulled away from Carter and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. I…it just caught me off guard is all.”

Carter nodded.

“And I’m sorry about what I said, I don’t want this to be hard. I don’t…you don’t owe me anything, you know that, but I want you to know, while I’m still here, how much you meant to me, how happy you made me, even if I didn’t know how to say it sometimes. Just having you here made me feel so alive! And Levi, I…I barely know him, and it’s so terrifying. I want to be with him so badly, but I’m so scared of who I might become. I can’t…control myself around him, I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him.”

“You…don’t have to forget me, you know.”

Wyatt leaned into Carter’s chest. “No–that’s how it always is for me, I throw myself into it. I never look back. Hell, you remember who I was better than I do! This time next week…I might not even recognize you if we passed by on the street. Everything feels so real, and then it doesn’t. I hate this, I should just leave, I can’t do this to you, this is cruel.”

He tried to pull away, but Carter tugged him back in. “This isn’t cruel. I want you for one night. One night, and you can go tomorrow. But we’re going out tonight, and we’re going to have some fun, alright? I want to see what you’re like, as a cub. I have to admit I’m curious–that’s a side of you I honestly didn’t expect.”

“What if you don’t like me? What if I don’t like me?”

Carter laughed. “Let’s not worry too much about that, alright? Now come on–I can tell neither of us slept well last night. Now come on, let’s take a disco nap, get ready, and go out.”

He could tell Wyatt was still hesitant, but when he tugged on his hand, he followed him towards the bedroom–which thankfully still held their king sized mattress. Wyatt climbed in, but it didn’t…feel right, somehow. Like he was sleeping in a stranger’s bed, and he realized it was because the indent he’d worn in over the years was gone–there was just one divot in the center. Before he could feel terrible about it, Carter pulled him close to spoon, but found himself in the position of little spoon for the first time he could recall–still, there was a comfort in it, and Wyatt drifted off almost immediately, with Carter following soon after.